Back again but different
by ValkyriePleasant222
Summary: "One word Sherlock..that's all I would have needed. One word to let me know you were alive". When John meets again the man he thought dead, it hits him like a tonne of bricks. Could they ever go back to what they were? Or is there something different about Sherlock that the consulting detective doesn't want John knowing..


That time of day where everything is silent. Where the black, star lit skies are just starting to brighten. No people walk the streets, all safe inside their little homes. And morning dew sticking to the gigantic trees. I walked down the path, the tweet of a robin's song, buzzing in my ears. My eyes searching for a familiar face. Though the lack of life on this street, I searched. I found myself at a train-station, the rain already heaving itself down on London. I shook out my coat, water droplets flinging off it. I sat on one of the seats, waiting my trains arrival. After a few seconds, I felt as though someone was watching me. I glanced at the wall behind me, pretending to stretch. And sure enough, he was there. I assumed it was a man, the tall and broad shouldered structure of his body gave it away. He wore a long coat this man, a black coat with a blue scarf draped round his neck. I could barely see his shadow draped face. I stood as the train came, sensing him straighten to his normal height. He walked past me swiftly. Maybe he wasn't watching me. I caught a glimpse of his face when he'd gone into the carriage Pale white. And his hair, a big curly mess of brown. I ignored the blatantly obvious, familiar traits this man shared with my late friend Sherlock Holmes. And that, is when he spoke. "You should stand away from the doors",he'd said. There was something in his voice I could not decipher. I took a step away from the doors. "Better?",I asked with a raised eyebrow. I could sense his ridiculous smile. "Well. Define better". I gave him a curious glance before looking away, gazing absently out the glass. "Ah",the man murmured to himself,"The outside world. From here, it seems, that it is encased in glass, forever out of our reach. Always moving and turning, throwing us off trajectory. Never, giving us the upper hand. Until, alas, we shatter the glass with a metaphorical brick, hoping for riches and joy, love and happiness, laughing and life. When all we get, is our human nature, playing tricks on us. Hope. Such a laughable matter". I stared, my mouth agape. These words, so deliberate and sought out, rolling off his tongue like they were foreign, yet they still belonged. So cynical, hypocritical, intelligent, witty. Familiar. "Well",I said finally,"There is a button". "Suicide",he replied bluntly. I double took. "Suicide?". "Yes. If breaking the glass with a metaphorical brick is to break through the barriers in your mind. Then to push a button, is to die". "Very-" "Murderous? Strange? Insane?-". "Creative". "What?". "Creative, your thoughts, they're creative". He nodded slowly. "Interesting",he murmured. "Why have you covered up",I blurted. The man tilted his head, I gestured the coat collar, which covered the face I wanted to see. He shrugged delicately. A scream. The man bolted down the carriage, coat flapping wildly around him. It took me a moment to realize what was going on. But when I did, I ran. The man was knelt beside a woman's body. He ripped his glove off with his teeth and threw it to the ground, putting two fingers on the woman's neck. "John call and ambulance and get them at the next stop in approximately-",he grabbed the woman's wrist, looking at her watch,"-14 minutes. Do it now". I did as told in a split second, nothing snapping back to think twice. And then I did. I felt the phone slip from my grip, it landed on the floor with a thump. "John put your hands on the wound, quickly before more blood escapes",Sherlock Holmes commanded me. I stared in wonder for a second but hurried down to the woman, putting pressure of the hole in her stomach. Sherlock searched the woman's body, from the hollows of her shoes to the pockets in her shirt. I realized it was only the three of us on the train, well two, or maybe it wa only me. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.. "You're dead",I spoke bluntly. "Ah yes",he muttered, taking out a small magnifying instrument and looking through it onto the woman's clothing and hair,"Short version",he cicked it shut,"Not dead. However. She is". I wanted to hit him, but also hug him. I wondered if I could combine the two in some...unrealistic way. The train stopped. In an instant Sherlock had pulled me out of the carriage, medical teams storming in, common determination written on their faces. All nurses and doctors had the same expression. I should know. Sherlock pulled me along a path for a few minutes, us now heading towards Baker Street. I pulled the other way, halting him to a stop. I instantly missed his hand in mine. "John?",Sherlock asked me curiously,"What's wrong?". I spluttered, something between a scornful laugh and a cry for guidance. "Are you really asking me that, Sherlock? Are you?",I said in disbelief. I slammed my fist on the bricks. "Three...three whole years Sherlock...you let me think...you died...that you were dead..". His voice seemed neutral as he spoke. "I had to. It was the only way I could save you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson from being killed". "And you didn't think to..I don't know, pop in for a coffee? Maybe a chat? No. You didn't Sherlock. Instead, you let me believe you were dead, gone, never coming back. Sherlock..you changed my life in ways, that not even you could imagine, you painted my black and white world with the brightest blues, and the deepest purples. You made each second worth, living. And then, you just take it away, like candy from a baby I assume you'd say". I stared at him fiercely. "One word Sherlock. One goddamn word to let me know you were alive, that's all I would have needed". I felt the tears well up behind my monochrome blue eyes. I didn't want them to escape, who would at a time like this. ~ ~ ~ 


End file.
